


been far away for far too long (stop breathing if I don't see you anymore)

by Splat_Dragon



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Accidental Abandonment, BATP, Blessed Are The Peacemakers, Day 31, Implied Character Death, Implied Future Character Death, Left Behind - Freeform, Left for Dead, Today's Special: Torture, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020, prompt 31, whumptober2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27289642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splat_Dragon/pseuds/Splat_Dragon
Summary: Whumptober 2020, #30: Today's Special: Torture: "Left For Dead"‘They’re going to find me.’The basement door was huge, he’d seen three men walk through it together though they’d had to stoop, surely it couldn’t be missed.‘They’re going to come for me.’
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	been far away for far too long (stop breathing if I don't see you anymore)

###  _been far away for far too long, stop breathing if I don't see you anymore_  
~Far Away, Nickleback

Arthur couldn’t say how long he’d been in that basement.

Two days? Three? Maybe four?

As it were, he’d long lost track of time. Down in the basement he had no way of telling when the sun rose and fell, could only try and guess based on whether the sun burned his eyes when Colm or one of the others came down to pay him a visit.

  
  


Maybe even longer.

He was so hungry. His stomach screamed, and his mouth was so dry his tongue had cracked and bled, his head throbbing from being upside down for so long.

_‘Dutch…’_

_‘Hosea…’_

_‘John…’_

He didn’t want them to come, but he desperately wanted them to come. It was a trap - had been a trap from the start - and the moment they came to save him, the law would snap them up like Cain would a treat. But he was in _pain -_ for every wound that healed, Colm and his men would put five in its place - and he was _hungry_ and _hurting_ and he wanted to go _home,_ but Colm was no fool and he was hardly left alone for a moment, never long enough to even try to break free of his bindings.

  
  


Colm shoved food down his throat, once or twice. Just enough to keep him from starving, but not enough that he didn’t grow weak - though, he supposed, that could be because his pulse was throbbing in his head, blood dripping to the floor.

It had to have been a week, maybe longer, and Colm was growing more and more angry. _“Where’s Dutch!?”_ he’d demand, though of course Arthur didn’t know, before setting him to spinning again with a strike that reopened his shoulder wound, descending on him like some rabid beast.

  
  


Arthur was certain he was going to die down in that basement.

His head spun even when he was still, and his eyes felt like they might burst. God, but he was hungry - he didn’t know how long it had been, at least nine days, he’d counted the sun being up and down nine times when they came down for a ‘visit’ though there were many times he’d woken up to them being in the basement and he hadn’t seen the state of the sun, and he’d had only a few bites of food, only what water they splashed on his face.

Arthur’s shoulder _screamed,_ his arm throbbed, every wound _burned_ and he was sure he’d expire hanging in his bindings to never be found. _“Septic, it ain’t nice.”_ Colm had said, and he could feel it.

  
  


A man whacked his gun into his side, and he saw stars. Whined, would have been embarrassed but he was all screamed out, could barely make even that sound his throat was so dry.

A gun fired overhead.

"What the hell was that?" the man barked, freezing with his own still in the air, halfway through hitting him again. "Goddammit!" He hit him one more time for good measure, before bolting up the stairs and out of the basement, leaving Arthur to gasp for breath.

More gunfire, and Arthur allowed himself to hope. And then a familiar voice—

_"WHERE THE HELL IS MY SON?!"_

—and his eyes burned though no tears came. _'Dutch. Run. It's a trap.'_ but he'd _come,_ he'd come for him, it had taken a week and a half but he'd come!

_"Sons of bitches! Where's my brother!?"_

_'John. Get the hell outta here.'_ he'd never forgive himself if Jack lost his pa because of him.

More gunfire, the thud of a body hitting wood.

Abrupt silence, and his heart thudded sluggishly in his throat. Had that been one of them? Had he gotten one of them killed?

And then—

_“Mr Marston! Mr. Smith! Tear this place apart!”_

—Dutch sounded half-unhinged, screaming at the top of his lungs. But… they’d won. None of them had been killed, had been hurt, as far as he could tell. Thank god. Thank _god._

_“Arthur!”_

His eyes drifted shut, thank _god,_ they were going to find him.

_“Arthur, son, are you here?”_

Weren’t no way they were going to miss the entrance to the basement, 

_“Arthur, can you hear us?”_

He opened his mouth, tried to call out _“Yes!”_ but his voice died long before getting anywhere close to his throat, _“Dutch, I’m here!”_

He tried again, tried just to yell, a wordless sound, managed a breathless croak, he was all screamed out, and even that made his throat _scream,_ made his eyes burn with want for tears that he couldn’t make.

_“Arthur!”_

_“Arthur?”_

_“Arthur, son?”_

Arthur tried, over and over. Managed, only barely, a croak, once or twice, then not even that.

_‘They’re going to find me.’_

The basement door was _huge,_ he’d seen three men walk through it together though they’d had to stoop, surely it couldn’t be missed.

_‘They’re going to come for me.’_

  
  


_“Arthur! Arthur, come on! Son, can you hear me!”_

_“Dutch… Dutch, I don’t think he’s here.”_

No.

_“He has to be, that fool told us he was here.”_

Please.

_“He lied, Dutch.”_

No.

_“We’ve looked everywhere. Unless… unless they buried him, he’s not here.”_

No!

_“...alright. Let’s go back to camp, regroup. We can start again from there.”_

No!

He croaked, and he rasped, and he wheezed, sobbed dryly as pain tore through his throat. But horse hooves thudded away, leaving the corpses to rot.

  
  
  


_‘I’m here.’_

_‘Dutch!’_

_‘Charles!’_

_‘John!’_

_‘I’m still down here!’_

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween y'all!
> 
> And I hope y'all enjoyed Whumptober!


End file.
